The Withered Rose
by aspentree11
Summary: The Circle is successful in taking over the Clave, and Valentine is there leader. Jocelyn still runs away, but years later when Jocelyn is captured in Alicante after hiding in New York for years, Valentine forces her to be a shadowhunter again in exchange for him not killing Clary.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is about what would happen if Valentine was successful in his first attempt to take over Alicante. He catches Jocelyn after years of her leaving him. Clary is eight. Since Valentine was successful the first time, a lot of things are different._

"So, who else knows you're alive?" Valentine Morgenstern had looped around the white couch at least a dozen times before he spoke. His voice was steady, abnormally calm, as Jocelyn remembered. She tried not to look at him when he addressed her, but she couldn't help it. Her eyes twitched quickly to his moving body. He didn't look much different than he had twenty years ago - his shoulders were still broad as an ox, he walked firmly, his hair was fair and his eyes were still rich with blackness. But she could tell he aged - he had two long lines that had formed from his cheekbone to his chin, a few miniature webs spreading underneath his dark eyes. At the top of his hairline, white strands were starting to show.

It was almost creepy, Jocelyn thought to herself. Whenever she imagined him through the years of fear and tears, she had pictured him as what he looked like twenty years ago. She had never imagined him with fading hair and wrinkles. It never occurred to her that he was, despite what he has done, mortal.

"Nobody," she said shortly. In the corner of her eye, she noticed how he broke his walking pattern for just a moment, as if hearing her voice for the first time in twenty years had caught him. But then he resumed to pace around her just as quickly as he stopped.

"Nobody," he repeated, his voice failing to appear emotionless. Valentine was infamous for his empty tones when in powerful situations, but the coldness leaked. The corner of her lips almost tipped up, until she remembered why she was there.

"Who could I trust?" She asked him, repeating his present thoughts as she knew what they would be. "The Lightwoods? Nice people they are, but as you said once, Valentine - Maryse and Robert breathe by honor, not by heart." She turned to him fully now, breaking the invisible mold she had made for herself in the last two hours. He stopped when her eyes moved towards him. He stood as straight as a line, normally making him intimidating to talk to, but she saw how his hands, which were clenched into a small buddle against his back, were starting to turn red.

"Why did you leave me?" He let out suddenly, his head still not turned towards her. She let out a breath. She had hoped they would have spent more time passive aggressively fighting before he came to that point.

"You were a monster," she replied. "You _are _a monster." Suddenly, his nose flared and his head whipped to face her. His fingers seemed to unlatch as he strode towards her loathingly. She almost backed up farther into the couch, but she knew that Valentine could only do so much to her now. Her chin raised up proudly.

"Do you see what I've made? I've changed the Clave for the better. The Shadowhunter World, _this_," he said, gesturing around him, "is my creation. I had taken down and rebuilt an entire empire. You should have felt honored to be at my side."

She didn't even blink as she answered, "I do not feel honored when there's a dead angel in my basement." Suddenly, he shuddered. A spasm flashed across his face, a series of emotions coming and going so fast that there was no way to tell what they meant.

"You looked," he said, as if to himself. "You went inside the basement." She started to stand up from the couch, leaning close to him. She could feel his breath shake.

"Yes, I know what I left when I left you. My honor, my family, my identity. But if you are going to kill me, do it. Because I'd do it all over again," she said, clipping each word carefully. With each word, a new layer seemed to harden in Valentine's eyes, the humanity in his eyes slowly leaving.

"So where is she then?" He asked. Jocelyn blinked, her shoulders falling forward.

"Who?" she breathed, though her voice raised eight octaves when she let it out. A small, mocking smile sprawled onto Valentine's lips victoriously.

"The girl, Clary you call her? My daughter?" He hissed. Her lips trembled. Her mouth opened several times until she finally answered.

"Camp. There's no school in the summer." His smile widened.

"Cheeky answer," he replied. "Where is she, Jocelyn?" She shook her head quickly as she started to tip back.

"I won't tell you," she said. "You can kill me, you can torture me, but leave her out of this. She's just a girl. A girl who doesn't-"

"Want me? Need me? Care for me?" He finished. "No, because I'm not her father. Because I didn't get to raise her." She swallowed.

"Our relationship was over eight years ago," she reminded him. "We're two different people now, with two different lives. There's no reason for me to be here." He started to inch closer to her, making her heartbeat ring in her ear.

"There's a thousand reasons why you should be here," he said, slowly cupping her face with his large, callused-filled hands. A shiver ran down her spine.

"There is none," she said, and she could feel one of his hands reach her waist. Her body tensed. She could barely breathe. "So go ahead. Kill me. Talking to me for whatever reason you have won't do anything." His eyebrows furrowed down. She couldn't tell if he was mocking her or if he was truly genuinely confused.

"I am not going to kill you," he said, as if she was stupid. "Why would I kill you, Jocelyn?" Her shoulders slumped further. Despite the fact that her life would be spared, a new, magnifying horror ran down her. Possibly even worse than dying.

"Then why," she said, more demanding, "Are you keeping me here?" A sudden emotion rippled in Valentine's eyes. At first it seemed foreign to her, as if beneath the blackness she couldn't recognize it, but then she remembered what it was. _Love. _

"Because I screwed up. I'll take the blame for it - I let you walk away. I should have paid more attention to you. I should've done something before you-"  
"It was more than just as drifting apart," she hissed, as she tried ripping away from Valentine's grip, but the more she twisted the harder Valentine dug his fingers in her hip. "I didn't love you anymore, I still don't love you!" Valentine was silent for a long moment, taking in her words.

"I will make you love me again," Valentine said, as if to himself. "You will love me again." She shook her head roughly.

"No!" She argued, her voice rising loudly. "I won't! Don't you get it? It's too late, Valentine. I will never love you!" But it was as if the words hadn't hit him. He continued to look at her, with a look filled with desire.

"You forget what your shadowhunter life once was," Valentine said. "Sending yourself off into the disgusting mundane world has tainted you, but I will cleanse you, Jocelyn. I will fix you, my love."

Before she had even realize what she had done, she heard a slapping sound ring in her ears. Her hand collided with Valentine's cheek, slapping him across the face so hard that she felt her fingers ring with pain. Valentine tipped back on his heels. The pain was nothing to a shadowhunter - every shadowhunter was trained to bare far worse, but the shock that she would hit him exploded in Valentine so roughly that he flinched back. His face was still turned away as he sucked in a breath. Her breathing paced quickly, a sudden fear running through her as she backed away slowly. She watched as he turned his head forward, his hand rubbing his now-red cheek. Her eyes widened.

"Jocelyn," Valentine breathed. "You can go. It's your choice." At first she stared at him, waiting for the seven-fold price she would have to pay for her violent act, but she didn't hesitate any longer. She grabbed the cloak that she had originally been under before Valentine captured her and headed for the glass door.

"807 Berkeley Place, Park Slope, Brooklyn, New York?" She stopped suddenly. Her hand was almost to the doorknob when he said the words. Slowly, horrified, she turned to look at him. He was still in place, his hand to his red cheek.

"What?" she said, barely a whisper.

"That's where you and Clarissa live, correct?" He asked. She didn't answer at first.

"I-I-I thought you didn't know where she is," her voice shivered. A small smile sprawled on his lips. A cold smile.

"You really believed that, Jocelyn? You've forgotten my mentality." He took a step towards her. Though he was far away, the one step made her wince. "Like I said Jocelyn: it's your choice. Either you or Clarissa." Her shaking arm fell to her side.

"You can't honestly think I can just leave her, do you? She has a life, she has a home-"

"Lucian can take her, can't he, since you're so close to the werewolf? That is, if you don't want me in her life." Valentine asked. Her stomach started to turn. As she opened her mouth to answer, she thought she would throw up.

"Fine," she heard herself say. "But if you touch her, if you even come close to her, I will promise you that I will kill you."

Walking out of Valentine's fairly new office was a blur. Valentine forced her to link arms with him as they left the office. Her eyes looked out the large windows that revealed the glass-like city, at the magnificent buildings and empty cobble-stone streets. Alicante always felt so breakable to her. People always said it was indestructible, but nothing so beautiful can be indestructible, she had once told Valentine. And as it was dark now - she would never risk going to Alicante in the day when people were asleep - early in the morning, the moon casted a glow across her face.

"Come," Valentine beckoned, pulling her away from the floor-to-ceiling hall windows. She swallowed, following him down a glass staircase. The hair on the back of her neck rose when she felt Valentine's gaze. It wasn't until they reached the chilled air that she met Valentine's eyes. Victory reflected back at her. Her jaw clenched.

"It's a beauty, isn't it?" He said, looking up towards the beautiful buildings that crowded around them with a wide smile. She swallowed as she looked around as well, taking in the silent beauty. He looked around in glory, but she looked around in fear. Her eyes found the large, glowing moon. She wondered where Clary was.

"Not for my taste," she said, bitterness running in her tone. Valentine's smile dropped instantly, his arm holding her tighter.

"It will be, Jocelyn, it will-"

"Did you just say _Jocelyn_?" A voice yelled. They both froze instantly. Jocelyn's stomach disappeared. At first she just stared ahead of her, until she started to turn towards the voice. As Valentine moved with her, she caught an irritated expression flash across his face for just a moment. Her eyes turned ahead of her, and instantly her stomach started to come back.

A figure, not much taller than herself, wrapped around in a red, velvet cloak, froze before her. For just a moment Jocelyn couldn't decipher who it was, but then she saw the long, curly, yellow-blonde hair that touched the figure's collarbone. Her mouth opened.

"Annamarie?" Jocelyn asked, in a wave of confusion. She wasn't necessarily a fan of Annamarie because of her overly-giddy personality, but before she left she was fairly close to her. She had tea with her at least twice a week, despite secretly not liking her. She honestly didn't know how she felt about seeing her again.

Annamarie ran to her, her arms colliding around her neck. Jocelyn felt her arm being ripped away from Valentine, and heard a huff of annoyance from beside her. Though Annamarie held her tight, Jocelyn stood numbly.

"I thought you were a goner," Annamarie said. "Where did you find her, Valentine?" An admiring tone, which had annoyed Jocelyn so bitterly when she was with Valentine, rang loudly. Jocelyn's eyebrows narrowed down.

"A goner?" Jocelyn questioned, her eyes glowering at Valentine. Valentine didn't look at her.

"I was right. She was kidnapped by Hodge Starkweather," Valentine said. Jocelyn's mouth gaped. _Kidnapped? By Hodge?_ But Valentine casted her a threatening glare, making her mouth close. She looked away.

"Oh, sweetie! We were all so worried for you, dear," Annamarie said, tugging at Jocelyn's shoulders. "All of the shadowhunters made numerous plans to find you, but Valentine said he already had a group looking for you. And obviously, they did. It took a long time though, I must say." Valentine flashed her a quick, forced smile.

"Yes, well, it was nice to see you, Annamarie, but-"  
"Is that a ring?" Jocelyn blurted. It was accidental, but when her eyes lowered to Annamarie's pale left hand, a bright ring glimmered back at her. She remembered that right before she left Alicante, that Annamarie had been gloating about her new "exciting" affair with Robert Lightwood.

"I'm guessing you moved on from Robert?" Jocelyn asked. A flash of anger hit Annamarie's face.

"Moved on? He left Maryse for me," she said, matter-of-factly. "About a year ago, actually. Turns out, Maryse had gotten pregnant with another man's child." Her eyes lowered at Annamarie. She didn't know Maryse well, as she never gotten along with Maryse's cold demeanor, but she knew that Maryse was far too good to have an affair. As Annamarie reminded her of a twelve year old girl, Maryse Lightwood reminded her of a future leader. Jocelyn had never understood how Robert had went from Maryse to Annamarie. But she did know one thing - that child was not another man's child. It was Annamarie telling everybody that to ruin Maryse's reputation.

"Oh," Jocelyn said simply, suppressing her sudden anger. "Well, that's..." She glanced to Valentine, realizing that she'd rather be stuck with that thriving maniac than Annamarie.

"What about tea tomorrow, Jocelyn?" Annamarie said, smiling widely. Jocelyn's jaw clenched. I won't be here tomorrow, Jocelyn wanted to say._ I will be in New York, getting Clary and then disappearing off the planet so that Valentine will never find us again._

"I-"

"We're having a dinner party this Saturday. How about you just see her then?" Valentine asked. Jocelyn's eyes widened.

"What?!" She hissed in his ear. Annamarie had obviously not heard her because she was smiling lividly.

"Oh, yes, that will be so exciting!" Annamarie gushed, clapping her hands. "I will invite everyone!" Valentine's hand went to Jocelyn's waist tightly, slowly retreating.

"Well," Valentine said tightly. "We must go. We will see you soon Annamarie." He turned Jocelyn towards the street again.

Annamarie's retreating clinks that were caused by her shoes as she went the seperate way reminded Jocelyn of the pair of heels that Clary had drawn only a few days ago.

AN: The first chapter is never perfect, but ta-da. I don't upload unless theres new reviews because I don't know if people actually want more unless they tell me, so review if you want more! The more reviews the faster!


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the trip was made in utter silence. As they walked down further, a look of determination was plastered on Valentine's face. He pulled her away hurriedly, obviously determined not to run into anyone else. _Not that Annamarie was anyone important_, Jocelyn thought. _She would never be a true Lightwood. _But as her thoughts started to fade into nothing, she couldn't help but imagine Clary here. Not that Jocelyn would ever let that happen, but what would her young daughter be like if she raised her as a shadowhunter? Clary was strong, but was she strong enough to be a shadowhunter?

"We're here," Valentine interrupted. Jocelyn looked in front of her, blinking. It was thin, but tall. The outside was made out of white stone, nearly glowing under the large moon. The steps were perfectly even, and there was a small lawn. It kind of reminded her of a townhouse, except it was probably seven floors. A really, really big townhouse.

"This isn't the Morgenstern Mansion," she said aloud.

"When I became Inquisitor, I had to move closer into Alicinate," Valentine said. Jocelyn jerked towards him.

"You're the_ Inquisitor_?" She gaped, her mouth open in horror. "Who would put you in that much power?" Valentine's eyes narrowed defensively.

"Smart, brave shadowhunters," he snapped back. She almost laughed, but then he started to pull her up the stone steps, practically dragging. He put his palm on the door, murmuring a passcode, and then doors opened by themselves. Smiling to himself, Valentine guided her in. She wasn't necessarily surprised when she walked in.

The inside was dressed like a Victorian house. The floors were made out of a dark, rich wood that was so clean that she could see her own reflection. The walls were painted with rich colors, like a dark blue, green, and red. Above her, a large chandelier probably the size of a couch hovered over her dangerously. Her eyebrows rose slightly, giving Valentine the benefit of the doubt.

"This is better than your small home, isn't it?" Valentine gloated. She glared at him.

"My _small home_? It's an apartment. An apartment that's four thousand dollars a month," she snarled. He looked at her, blinking in idiocy. Even if Valentine understood the value of mundane currency and how hard it was to obtain it, Valentine would still gloat that he had more.

"Come, let me show you around," he insisted. He let go of her arm, and she glanced down at it. There was a large red mark that circled around her forearm. Grunting, she rubbed it with her hand. She knew that it was going to be a bruise tomorrow. _How would she ever explain that to Clary? _

"Fine," Jocelyn replied stiffly. "If I have to stay in this prison." Valentine pretended not to hear her, and instead kept walking. He first walked into the small, yet elegant living room. There was a long table, probably capable of fitting fifteen people. It was made out of dark, carved wood, that had different pictures of wars carved into it. She grimaced at it. It wasn't something she'd care to eat on. But Valentine's eyes glimmered when he looked at it, running his fingers over it proudly. He then motioned to the beautiful vases that scattered in each corner of the dining room. She shrugged.

"Vases are too breakable to me," she replied. Again, he pretended to not hear her, and led her into the living room. This time, she couldn't help but admire it.

Like everything else, the wood floors were dark. The furniture was to her delight though - two large, leather couches that could fit five people each. It wasn't Valentine's taste, she knew. He wasn't the type to have couches or to even use a living room in general. She was glad to know that Valentine hadn't decorated the walls with any tacky variation of hanging weapons or terrible paintings. The only thing that stood out was a large, painted "M" behind the main couch. She noticed as well that there was a small television. She doubted that there was such thing as cable here, so it was probably for decoration.

Valentine wasn't too interested in it, so he pulled her into the kitchen. She exhaled. The counters were layered in white marble, with specks of gray and black sprinkled ontop. There was a huge refrigerator, with two upper-half doors and a bottom section. There was a large, two door pantry in the corner, and an island that consisted of an electric stove and a few cabinets beneath it. A metal sink was a part of a second island, this time with chairs scattered around the counter-side. She didn't want to say it out loud, but she loved it. But then she remembered why she loved it so much - she had begged Valentine to get this kitchen while they were married. He promised her that he could get someone to do it when the time was right, but a few years after he had promised it she had left him, leaving that dream of a perfect kitchen behind. She felt Valentine's eyes on her.

"We should keep going," Jocelyn suggested coolly. Valentine walked out of the large kitchen and towards a staircase. Holding the wood banister, she looked upward. It seemed like the staircase went on forever. She glanced down and realized that the staircase went down below them as well. Being in apartment for so long, it made Jocelyn hate it. She learned to enjoy the small, yet cozy home. Not something so large and distant as this. Now, she would've hated to raise Clary here.

She followed Valentine up the wood staircase, holding onto the banister so that she wouldn't accidentally slip. She saw Valentine glance behind her, looking at her arm. Her loose sleeves were starting to move up her arm. Now under the bright, shiny chandelier, he saw the many injuries on her forearm. Cuts seemed to decorate the surface of the skin. He stopped.

"Is that from today?" He questioned. She noticed how her sleeve was dragging up her arm as she trailed her hand on the banister. Hastily, she pulled the sleeve over it.

"It's not easy to get into Alicante," she muttered. At first she expected him to smile, but he frowned.

"Here, let me go get a stele, Jocelyn. I will put an _iratze-"_

"No!" She barked. His frown turned into a tight, straight line. He shook his head lightly in disapproval, then continued up the stairs. When she entered a small, narrow hallway, she looked at the many doors. There was probably around twelve, each equally apart. Each were closed tight, made out of the same dark wood that was used for the floor. Despite it being only a few years old, it looked like it had been around for a good hundred years. It wasn't dirty or anything, it just seemed old fashioned. Maybe even the prettiest part yet.

He started to lead her down the hall, towards the last door.

"This is our-"

"Your room," Jocelyn argued. "I am not sharing a bed with you." At first he stared at her harshly, as if contemplating whether or not to make her, until he nodded curtly.

"You'll decide otherwise later," he told her. Jocelyn pursed her lips.

"Save your breath, Valentine," she hissed. He walked towards the room closest to her, a few doors away.

"You can stay here until you change your mind," Valentine instructed, emphasizing the last part of his sentence. He opened the door slowly. It was bare - a full bed, blue sheets, a window. But it was entirely empty. No speck on the floor, nothing on the wall. It was like nobody had ever even entered it. Slowly, she walked in.

"I'll have to go find you some clothes," Valentine said. She shook her head.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "I'll just change and take a shower tomorrow. I'm...exhausted." At first he looked at her skeptically, trying to find a lie in her eyes, but then he smiled.

"That sounds fine," Valentine said approvingly. When she moved towards the bed, she expected him to leave, but instead he stared at her. She swallowed.

"Are you going to leave or are you just going to continue staring at me?" She spat. He laughed.

"It's been nice seeing you, Jocelyn," he said, and then closed the door.

(threedasheshere)

Jocelyn had spent an hour looking for a way out. First, she looked at the window. Her eyes fell down, and looked below her. There was at least four levels below her and though she was trained to be able to scale down a building, she hadn't tried in years. She considered just jumping, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to land efficiently. Even if she survived it, she couldn't imagine not being injured. She would never be able to leave Alicante efficiently if she was injured.

She then tried looking for a trap door. Valentine loved secret passages. Whether he used it or not, he cherished them. In their last house, they had nine. But even she knew that he wouldn't have one in such an insignificant, unused room. He used to keep them in the main rooms: the living room, the kitchen, the basement, the master bedroom, and so on. Not in a random guest bedroom.

Finally, she fell to the bed. How would she find a way out? How would she get to Clary? Of course she could just open the door and leave, but Valentine would have never left the door unlocked unless he thought that it would be impossible for her to leave without his assistance. He would hear her. She guessed he had security on all exiting doors, like the front door and the back door. Maybe a demon would appear if she tried to leave the house, or maybe she would just plain die. Even the simplest, mundane ways to leave were taken away from her.

"I have to kill him," Jocelyn whispered to herself. It wasn't that she believed he didn't deserve being dead, it was that for the last eight years she's imagined herself in a situation where she could take Valentine's life, and she didn't think she could do it. Once, they were happy. Once, she did love him. She, in a way, was still in love with the Valentine Morgenstern that didn't turn into a psychopath. But he was a psychopath, and she couldn't think of what could have been.

She got up from the bed, looking around herself with more detail. How could she kill Valentine Morgenstern? But then her eyes `looked at the window. It was small, and overlooked the back yard. Her eyes looked at one of her shoes - a boot. Quickly, hoping that Valentine wouldn't hear, she took her boot and swung it at the window. Immediately, a galaxy of glass spread around her. A chill ran through the air.

With her index finger and thumb, she carefully picked up the largest chunk of glass. It wasn't as reliable as a dagger, but it was enough to kill someone.

Slowly, she went to the door. Her heart rang in her ear loudly as she opened it. She cringed as it let out a slight creek.

"Shh," she said to it, despite it being an inanimate object. She tiptoed to Valentine's room. She heard, even through the door, his vicious snores. How stupid could he be to go to sleep so early? He mocked her for not remembering his mentality, but did he remember hers? She didn't back down without a fight.

She opened the door, this time more confident with herself. Of course, she wished she had a stele so that she wouldn't make any noise, but Valentine was asleep. She didn't have to be entirely quiet, did she?

Her feet slid against the hard floors slowly, a faint creek hitting with each step. She rose the glass in the air. The room was huge - probably as big as the kitchen, living room, and dining room put together. But Valentine's king size bed wasn't far away from her.

Within a minute, she was at Valentine's side. She had almost forgot about how he slept. He would sleep so still that at times, when he wasn't snoring, she would fear that he was dead and shake him awake. Valentine always thought this was amusing, and had at times wondered if he did this on purpose, but now she saw that Valentine really was earnest about some things.

She took a shaky breath, raising the glass in the air.

"By the Angel, Archangel Raziel, please stay with me," she breathed. Suddenly, the glass was plunging through the air. She felt the swift of air hit her face as it whipped past her, whizzing towards Valentine's chest.

Suddenly, Valentine's eyelids flew open. He tried catching her hand just as it was about to hit him, but instead he accidentally grabbed the glass. She screamed and threw herself backwards. He cursed, looking at the large cut he had made on his hand when he cut the piece of glass. As he evaluated his hand, she bolted out. She considered going down the stairs, but she remembered how all it would be was a dead end. Anyways, Valentine would probably catch her before she made it to the front door.

As she continued to run down the hall, she heard heavy footsteps trudge behind her. Suddenly, she found herself at the end of the hall. Quickly, she threw the door open, slinging herself inside and closing the door.

But just as her fingers were about to hit the latch, she gagged.

"No..." she said. But in front of her was something she had forgotten about. Something she had thought no longer existed. Suddenly, she sunk down against the door. Behind her, she felt the door open roughly but Valentine seemed to be far from her thoughts.

She was in a boy's room. It was a dark blue, pale but still blue. There was a dresser beside her, barely closed because of the amount of clothes stuffed inside. On top of the dresser, a thousand trinkets scattered about. A dagger rested beside the bed, glittering with crystals.

But her eyes were on the bed. In the bed, a small buddle was wrapped around. She heard the bundle snore lightly, like a humming bee.

"No," she said again. "He can't be..."

"There's your son," a voice said behind her, though she barely heard it. "Jonathon Christopher Morgenstern." Her eyesight went sideways, dizzying herself. She still wept over Jonathon, keeping a box under her bed and pulling it out once a year. Of course, this was her demonic version of her child - the being in the bed wasn't truly hers. Her son was stolen from her. Her son was gone.

Yet the proof that a living boy still existed with her genes made her stop breathing. She wanted to breathe, she urged to breathe, but she couldn't do it. For some reason, her entire body stopped.

"I thought..." she said aloud, not knowing whether to herself or to Valentine. "I thought he was..."

"He hasn't gone to the Alicante Institute yet," Valentine informed her. "I wanted to wait until next summer." But that wasn't what she was thinking. She thought, by now, Valentine would have killed him. Surely this demonic child was no use for Valentine? It was a horrible thought, but Jocelyn always believed it was because of her that Valentine kept the boy. But why would he keep him after she left? It was Valentine's failed experiment, after all.

"But..." Her legs seemed to lift her up. She felt herself walk towards the shelf, where a single picture rested. It was between him and his father. It couldn't have been more than a year ago that the picture was taken. The boy, grown now, still had the blonde hair, despite the fact it looked more yellow-blonde than white-blonde. His skin was still just as pale as it was when he was a baby. She tried depicting what he had gotten from her, if there was something physically that he had kept, but she couldn't find a single characteristic. Struggling, she forced herself to look at his eyes.

Suddenly, she toppled back, clutching her chest. She heard her breathing pace, hyperventilating. She gasped for air, but she couldn't find it.

"Hi-His eyes..."

"Are gold," Valentine finished. "They lightened when you left." She hadn't heard him. As the bright yellow eyes burned inside her head, she knew something was wrong. Her lungs tightened.

"I ca-can't-"  
"Jocelyn," a voice said, concern leaking. "Are you okay?" She clutched her chest. _That's my son. Gold eyes. Not black. Gold. _

"I can-can't breathe. I can't..." Blackness started to fog her vision. Before her legs slipped from under her, she felt two hands catch her body.

"Calm down, Jocelyn. You need to-" But the words stopped. Instead, she lost herself. She closed her eyes and let herself be swept into the nothingness.

(three dashes here)

_She was at a dinner. Not just any dinner - "the dinner", Valentine called it. It was a dinner Valentine had planned weeks ago. Many people were there - The Lightwoods, The Herondales, the Penhallows. Her eyes, without meaning to, found Luke's from across the room. While she was standing in the kitchen looking through the entry way to the dining room, he was standing in the corner of the dining room. Though there were people around him, and he was in the midst of a group conversation, he held her gaze. _

_ Luke lifted his glass. She felt herself smile - a real smile, for the first time in ages - and lift her own glass as well. He looked nice, she thought. He was in a dark grey button down, with the first two buttons unbuttoned. One of his hands was tucked into the pocket of his dark jeans, and his dark hair was groomed in an attractive style. To her dislike, she felt her cheeks heat up. Her smile faltered quickly, turning away so nobody could see her red cheeks. She spun on her heels, hoping to rush to the bathroom, until a thin figure moved in front of her. _

_ Suddenly, she forgot about her warm cheeks and beamed a smile. The figure in front of her smiled as well, spinning her white-blonde hair around her finger. Jocelyn's heart bursted. _

_ "Madeleine!" She exclaimed. Suddenly, her arms were twisted around Madeleine's neck lovingly, clutching her. _

_ "I thought you wouldn't come," Jocelyn said, her eyes stinging. "I thought-" But Madeleine gave her a small smile. Madeleine, to Jocelyn's great dislike, had a few weeks ago picked a fight with her. Though Madeleine didn't specify her exact frustration, Jocelyn knew that she had hurt her feelings somehow. _

_ Madeleine blushed in embarrassment. _

_ "Yes, well, you are my best friend, Jocelyn," Madeleine reminded her. Jocelyn giggled. _

_ "How are you?" Madeleine asked quickly. "How's Jonatho-" But a high-toned ring interrupted her. Both Madeleine and Jocelyn turned their heads to the dining room, where Valentine held a glass of wine and a knife in the air. _

_ "If I could get everyone's attention," Valentine said, tapping it again. Jocelyn's smile widened. As he started to talk, Jocelyn heard Madeleine sigh._

_ "Is there something wrong?" Jocelyn asked her, genuinely concerned. Madeleine's eyebrows rose. _

_ "No, I just...Look at how they watch him," Madeleine said. "Their admiration..." She was correct, Jocelyn thought. The people around Valentine stared at him with wonder, listening to each word carefully. Jocelyn smiled again. _

_ "Yes, I know we made fun of it in school, but I understand now why they follow him so willingly," Jocelyn said. "He's strong, he has dreams that none of us have ever fathomed." Madeleine didn't say anything at first. _

_ "Yes, he'll be the death of us," Madeleine said. Jocelyn swerved around, her mouth open. Madeleine's eyes were on Valentine's darkly, clearly not amused with his beliefs. _

_ Suddenly, the dream stopped. The words mocked her as she dwelled in the darkness. _

_ He'll be the death of us. _

She heard birds singing. Not just chirping - singing. A rhythmic tone humming in her ears. She groaned, rubbing her eyes. Beneath her lids, she knew a ray of sunshine was hitting her eyes. She internally cursed herself. She thought her and Luke had finally found a way to hang the curtains without it falling down, but apparently it was useless - they would have to find a new way. She yawned.

"Clary," she called, her voice loud. "It's time for school. Clary-" But when she opened her eyes, she sat up with a jerk.

She wasn't in her apartment. Instead she was in a sun-room. She was laid on a couch-like seat that was attached to the wall. A large window hovered over her, angling the bright sun in her face. She looked out the window, seeing a lawn that obviously wasn't hers but yet...it was familiar.

An explosion of pain instantly hit her head as she moved forward. What had happened? Where was she?  
"Clary," she said. "Clary, where are you? Where's Simon? Where's Lu-" But then a figure walked into the sun room. She stepped backwards, her eyes wide.

"Valentine," she said loudly. "What are you-" But then the memories hit her suddenly, like she had just fallen out of a tree and had suddenly remembered how she ended up on the ground.

"Well, you're awake," Valentine said, his eyebrows rising. She reached for her back pocket, hoping that maybe a piece of glass had fallen into it, but when her fingers reached for pocket she realized that her pants didn't have pockets. She looked down. Somehow, Valentine had gotten her dressed in a soft pink sweatpants and a matching tank-top. Her fingers found her hair, which was damp.

"What did you do?" she asked. Valentine, who had his hands behind his back, stepped towards her slowly. His eyebrows scrunched down.

"You were unconscious so I-"  
"_Violated my body?" _She finished, looking down at her new clothes in disgust. Valentine's eyes widened.

"You're my wife," Valentine reminded her. "Surely you don't actually think I was violating you?" Suddenly, as the anger wound in her quickly, she found herself straightening up, the fury making her taller. Her index finger was in the air, her mouth wide open, ready to roar, until a door banged open. Both of their eyes went to the door.

"Father, Father, Father! Where are you? Father, _Father-" _Valentine's hand was to his face, massaging his eyes in frustration. The footsteps, which were clearly on a different level, were banging.

"What did I tell you about volume, Jonathon?" Suddenly, the footsteps stopped banging and his voice lowered.

"Father?" he said, in a projected whisper. Quietly, yet still audible, the boy rushed down. Jocelyn's eyes were wide as she saw the shadow hover down the stairs.

"_Father_?" Finally, the boy was in front of them. He was probably only a few inches taller than Clary. He was all arms and legs, and he was staring at his father wildly, his gold eyes shining brightly as Jonathon ruffled his blonde, messy hair. In his small hands, he had a wooden stick that was at least twice his size, and a small bird on his shoulder.

"Father, I did it!" He said, exclaiming. "I trained the bird to-" But Valentine was staring at him intriguingly, looking at him and then back at Jocelyn. Jocelyn was leaning against the wall, clutching it for support. She was taking even breaths, determined to not pass out.

"Who is _that_?" Jonathon asked suddenly, his eyes on Jocelyn. Jonathon didn't stop himself from letting her hear the suspicion in his voice. _Gold eyes. They truly are gold. _

"She," Valentine said, correcting him. "She is Jocelyn Morgenstern. This is your mother, Jonathon." At first, Jonathon looked at her skeptically, his stick on the ground and his small bird chirping on his shoulder. Jocelyn was too much in shock to give Valentine a stinging glare.

"_You _are my mother?" Jonathon demanded. Everything in Jocelyn's body told her to deny it. To say no. To not give the little boy hope that she would stay there, or worse - take him home with her.

"Yes," she heard herself say. Jonathon opened his mouth, looking at his father, and then back at Jocelyn. She wondered if this was the first time Jonathon, who had appeared so loud and talkative, was silent in a situation.

"Is th-that your-your bird? I heard it this morning. It's singing woke me up," Jocelyn forced herself to say, pointing at the animal. Jonathon's gold eyes flashed towards the bird in confusion, but then a firework bursted.

"Father!" Jonathon yelled again. "I trained it. I trained it to sing!" Though his voice was filled with such glee and light that it made Jocelyn smile, a hardness covered Valentine's eyes.

"I didn't tell you to teach it to sing," Valentine growled, "You were supposed to train it to be _obedient._" The light in the boy's eyes seemed to shatter. His hand, which had been waving in the air in glee, had fallen to his side numbly. Jocelyn's mouth gaped, witnessing how Valentine had completely shut down her son's gift to love.

"I love it," Jocelyn told him quickly, reaching over to Jonathon to touch his shoulder. "I think it's beautiful." Jonathon looked at her, and whether Valentine noticed or not, she saw tears in his eyes. When Jonathon looked at her though, and her words hit him, a small smile started to spread. A faint light began to spread in Jonathon's eyes again.

"I taught it sing the tone of this song Father taught me to play-"  
"Are you listening to me, Jonathon?" Valentine roared. Jonathon jumped. Jocelyn started to straighten up again, anger filling her eyes.

"Yes, Father, I am-"

"He heard you," Jocelyn snapped. "And I think teaching a bird to sing for you is the same thing as training it to be obedient, don't you think, Valentine?" Jonathon's eyes shot downwards, confusion filling his face as he watched this woman do something he had probably never seen: argue with Valentine. Valentine rose his chin proudly, skeptical, but then nodded slowly.

"Fine," Valentine said simply. Jocelyn gritted her teeth.

"Aren't you _proud _of him, Valentine?" Jocelyn urged. A tinge of anger flickered in Valentine's eyes, but then he nodded.

"Yes, I'm proud of you, Jonathon," Valentine spat, not looking at Jonathon. Jonathon gaped, his eyes wide. Had Valentine ever told him that? Jocelyn wondered. Jonathon scampered off, Valentine shooing him. It wasn't until Jonathon was far away from them, did Jocelyn look at him again.

"If you want me to stay in this house, you better start treating him better," Jocelyn demanded.

Thanks for reviews! More reviews needed though if you want more. Also, in my previous chapter, I kept saying "twenty years" (I have no idea why) I meant eight.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear Luke, _

_ I have put myself in a position where I won't be able to make it home any time soon. Please, in the mean time, tell Clary that when she gets back to camp to stay at Simon's. And_

But then she took the piece of paper she was writing on and crumpled it up tightly. Angrily, hearing her ridiculous words echo back in her head, she threw the ball of paper away from her, hitting the tin trash can with a _clink_. She groaned, putting her head in her hands for the fifteenth time. Between her thin, pen-stained fingers, she could count at least ten small paper balls scattered around her, each scrunched together with her undying misery.

"That was your twelfth time," a voice chimed in from the corner. Jocelyn whipped her head back towards the large, mahogany desk. Valentine was hunched over it, writing his own letters. He had a pair of glasses that tipped awkwardly on his nose, his black eyes narrowed down at them intently.

"Well, I wouldn't have to have this issue," Jocelyn's voice rose, "If I wasn't stuck here." Soon after Jonathon had left the sun room, Valentine ushered her into his study, placed her towards an old table that was adjacent to his desk, and told her to write a goodbye letter. Not only to Clary, but to Luke and the rest of her life as well. She had tried explaining it as carefully yet fully as she could, but Valentine either rejected the letter and refused to send it or it didn't come out as she wanted it to come. There was absolutely no way she could say goodbye to Clary, and she knew giving Luke any hint that she was being held captive would bring chaos. Luke would seek hell or high water for her, and be willing to get killed in the process.

"What is there to say?" Valentine went on, putting down his fountain pen and looking up at her. "That you love her? That you'll miss her? To take care of her?" He was trying to help, in his own sickly way, but Jocelyn shook her head. There was absolutely no way that Valentine, as straight-forward and narrow-minded he was, could understand this. He never considered consequences or the affects of his decisions.

"What are _you_ writing?" She sneered. He looked down at the many papers on his desk.

"Oh, these are just to the other shadowhunter families," he informed her. "Mostly the shadowhunter families that are a part of The Circle." She rolled her eyes, her palm digging back into her forehead.

"The Penhallows, The Blackthornes, The Carstairs, The Herondales," he continued, his voice trailing off to the many names that she had almost forgotten with time. "They all need to arrive at their homes at noon."

"And why," she said, clipping her words slowly, "Does every shadowhunter in this breakable purgatory need a letter addressed from you by noon?"

"Because of your welcoming party," he said, as if she was stupid. She straightened up.

"Isn't that on Saturday?" she asked, trying to rearrange the events of last night. Though her memories have come back, they were still fuzzy and scrambled. Though he shot her an annoyed look, an amused smile played on his lips.

"Today is Saturday," he reminded her. A sudden shock ran through her, and her eyes widened.

"No, it's not," she argued. He nodded slowly.

"Yes," he argued. "I promise you, it is, Jocelyn." Jocelyn shook her head roughly.

"No, because that would mean that Clary's art gallery show for her camp is today and-" But by the look on Valentine's face, she realized there was no point explaining. A pain bursted in her chest, and her fingers ached to hold it - hoping, that if she squeezed her chest hard enough, it would go away. _She had been talking about that art gallery show for months, _Jocelyn thought. _And now I will never see it. _

"So I suggest you-"  
"Wait," Jocelyn yelped. "You told her yesterday that it was supposed to be on Saturday. Shouldn't it be next Saturday then, because saying yesterday was Saturday when you should have said yesterday that it was tomorrow, Annamarie probably thinks it's next Saturday anyways." For a second, Valentine just stared at her, confusion filling his face.

"_What_?" He asked. She sighed.

"Annamarie thinks you meant next Saturday, so how about you just let me go for the day to go see Clary's gallery and-"  
"The letters I am giving out puts the exact date," he snapped. "You need to realize you aren't going back. And I'd suggest you write that letter by the time I'm done, or else you won't be sending out a letter at all."

(THREE DASHES HERE)

After Jocelyn finished her might-as-well-be death note, she found herself staring out the window of the kitchen, watching Jonathon Christopher Morgenstern play with a dagger on the lime-green lawn. There was nobody opposing him, but as he inherited at least a fraction of Jocelyn's imaginative mind, he was pretending there was a partner in front of him and swishing the air with his dagger. _He needs friends_, Jocelyn thought sadly. She didn't want him to turn into an ax murderer simply because he never had friends (well, if being Valentine's son doesn't make him an ax murderer by himself).

"It's humorous, Jocelyn," a voice said behind her, as the voice rummaged through a drawer. "That you insist on watching the boy for three hours in a row do absolutely nothing, yet you'll ignore him for majority of his life." She wanted to call Luke. Not to beg him to save her, but to finally tell someone what was spurring in her mind. She wanted to tell him that it hadn't hit her yet - the fact that she abandoned a being that was acting fully normal. Mostly because a bit of her still believed that Jonathon _couldn't_ be normal. She had held him as a baby, she held fed every bottle to him. He never cried, he never smiled, he just sat there emotionless. Even now she believed that there was something wrong with the boy, especially after having Clary.

That baby wasn't normal. Even if a golden, blue-eyed boy stood back at her now, she refused to go back on her beliefs. Jonathon Christopher Morgenstern was an abomination.

"I would have came back for him," Jocelyn argued. "You know I would have. But I knew it wouldn't work. I'd have to sacrifice myself, and to sacrifice myself I would have to sacrifice Clary." Valentine gave a light chuckle behind her.

"Well, that was a horrible decision, don't you think? Especially since you are already here now," Valentine said lightly. Jocelyn didn't bother getting insulted.

"He doesn't look like either of us, does he?" Like she saw earlier, he had some characteristics that could be linked back to them: he had blonde hair and pale skin, but his blonde hair was nothing like his father's white-hair. Instead, it was like a golden haystack that reflected different tones of yellow and light brown. His white skin, which had been corpse-white as a baby, seemed to have tanned through the years. His eyes were yellow, like his hair, and his facial structure was stronger than Jocelyn's, but yet thinner than Valentine's. She guessed he could have her thin body, as she couldn't imagine him becoming a broad man like Valentine, but being thin was such a common characteristic.

"He has your toes," Valentine replied immediately. "And my chin." She tilted her head, not looking at Valentine but at the boy again.

"I don't see it," Jocelyn said. "But...he does look familiar."

"See! Looks like us," Valentine confirmed. "Anyways, it's not like we can control what he looks like, Jocelyn." She shook her head quickly, guilt spurring in her.

"No, no, of course not! It's just...Clary looks so much like me," Jocelyn said quietly. Valentine sighed.

"Well, if you wanted, we could have another-" Jocelyn whole body swerved around quickly, her red hair whipping her cheeks violently, and even taking Valentine by surprised.

"I'm not here to have your children," Jocelyn snarled. "If it wasn't for that little boy out there, I would have killed myself getting out of here!" Something broke in Valentine's amused eyes.

"You're here to be a mother," Valentine said. Jocelyn thought at first he was arguing with her, but as his voice echoed in her head, she couldn't tell. Was he agreeing, or was he saying what she already knew?  
(THREE DASHES HERE)

"I'm sure you remember this?" Valentine had said later, while she sat outside of Jonathon's room quietly. Jonathon hadn't noticed her yet, but Valentine seemed to know exactly where to find her.

Jocelyn's bright-green eyes rose up, looking at the slim piece of cloth in his hands. She knew it well; it was the red dress she had worn to every meeting that Valentine held. She was surprised to feel her heart skid a beat for the dress. She had to admit, she missed the dress, especially since she didn't have the money to have many dresses like that.

"Sadly," she said snarkily. "I had to wear it to every fan meeting of yours." He ignored her comment and went on.

"I want you to wear it tonight," he told her. "Old tradition, eh?" Her green eyes eyed the beautiful gown again, but this time skeptically. Valentine scowled, raveling the dress in his hand roughly.

"I'm sorry, would you rather not go?" He replied coolly. "I don't want this to feel like a prison, Jocelyn." Hastily, she jumped up, taking the dress.

"And while you are trying it on," Valentine added. "Keep in mind who you plan on getting together with. You aren't leaving this house next week, so I suggest you start inviting people over while I'm at work."

"Fine," she said. But as she took it and walked to her room to try it on, she didn't notice two yellow eyes watching her through the crack of the door as she strutted away.

(THREE DASHES HERE)

Jocelyn had realized since the morning that she wasn't going to play prisoner. Not because she was going to stay their willingly - she was going to find a way out as soon as possible - but because she refused to play Valentine's game. Maybe that was why he loved her, maybe that was the reason he wanted her so bad, but she was the only thing that has ever defied him. Who has ever challenged him. And she was proud of that.

"Jocelyn, can you hand me the veggie plate?" Picking the hem of her gown from the floor by pinching the waist line up, she shifted the veggie plate from the dining room table towards Valentine. As she walked into the kitchen, she glanced outside: Jonathon was studying his Latin. She almost smiled, until she remembered how terribly sad the situation was. She needed to leave, she decided. Soon, she would have to leave, and being attached to a boy she would have to abandon once again wasn't going to make it any easier.

"How are we going to fit all these people at the table, Valentine?" She said, feeling exhausted. "There's not enough room." He shrugged her off.

"It's a casual dinner party," he insisted. "They can walk around with their food. It's a celebration, not a meeting." He said it so casually, as if he had a thousand more meetings without her in the eight years. Not that she doubted it, but she enjoyed living in the ignorant world where she didn't have to imagine a corrupted group of people determine the fate of the world every week in her husband's dining room.

"Right," she grunted. Immediately, as she agreed, a bell jingle loudly. A wide smile spread across Valentine's face as he put down the white cloth in his hands and headed towards the door.

"Jocelyn, dear," He called, and she winced. "Come meet our guests."

(THREE DASHES HERE)

The one thing she loved about shadowhunter dinner parties is that everybody arrived on time. Nobody arrived late, and nobody arrived early. Typically, most people waited at the door until the exact time. When they poured in though, she realized she hadn't prepared at all. What was she supposed to say to these people? But as they collided around her, she realized she didn't have to - whatever these people believed, they would believe by themselves.

She recognized most people. Some seemed as if they hadn't aged a bit, while other's looked like they could have aged two decades. There were some who would walk up to her curtly, and she would feel uneasiness on her toes, wondering who missed her and who didn't. And then there were the people who never made an impact on her, just blurred faces, and probably never would.

Most people hugged her neck tightly, murmured their greeting while introducing their children, and walked away towards other, more important people in their lives. Nobody seemed to have much to do with her, despite it being her celebration. In a way, she felt insulted. She always felt she made a good life in the shadowhunter world. Anger, as each person went by, started to build in her and she realized she had to move around. She was about to step into the kitchen in hope to grab a small drink, when she saw Annamarie block her view.

"JOCELYN!" Annamarie yelped, swinging her skinny arms around her neck. Many people turned around, giving disturbed looks towards them. As Annamarie pulled away, Jocelyn analyzed her. When she saw her late at night, it was dark and Annamarie was wearing a frumpy cloak. But now she could finally see her. She had grown thicker by a few pounds, which tend to happen with age, but something was still so immature about her. Jocelyn always thought she was just a late bloomer, but Annamarie reminded her of a hyper twelve year old. She was wearing a doll-like dress, with her yellow hair braided around her shoulder. She had tacky blue eye make-up, with a pink lipstick far too bright for her lips.

"Hello Annamarie," Jocelyn said, failing to hide the negative tone in her voice. "How are you?" Annamarie giggled again, _for absolutely no reason_, Jocelyn might add.

"I am perfectly fine!" Annamarie said, her tone high pitched. "I wasn't able to speak for you long, since your hubby rushed you off." Annamarie's eyes swept the people around her, as if trying to get recognition for being the first person to see Jocelyn, but nobody showed any care.

"Yeah," Jocelyn drawled. "But if you don't mind, I-"  
"And I'm sure you remember Robert, my _husband_." Jocelyn glanced behind Annamarie's shoulder, blinking. It was, in fact, Robert Lightwood. He was still broad and tall, like Valentine, and held a quiet demeanor. His hair, which she always liked, was dark as night and his eyes seemed to fall around her tightly.

"Jocelyn," he greeted. She nodded at him in return, knowing that he didn't want any more awkward conversation then she did.

She used to be close to him though. Maybe not best friends with Maryse and Robert, and maybe she disagreed with how they presented themselves, but she would say they knew each other well. What happened? She wanted to ask him. _I knew you since we were sixteen. Are you truly happy without Maryse?_ But she didn't. Instead, she gave him an ignorant smile, pretending that she had never seen him and Maryse together at all.

"Well, I must see you later," Jocelyn said. "I'm dying of thirst - how about you go mingle with some people, eh?" But when she saw Annamarie's smile falter for just a second, she questioned if she had any friends at all. She walked away quickly, her eyes on the ground as she weaved through the people in order to get to the kitchen. When she saw the entrance of the kitchen, she exhaled in happiness. Finally, she was there.

Sadly, when she stepped into the kitchen, the first person she saw was the one who didn't want to see her: Valentine.

"Jocelyn, I thought you were talking to people," Valentine scolded, bitterness in his tone. She shrugged casually, dismissing his negativity.

"I did my job," she reminded him as she popped a veggie in her mouth. "I said hello to them, I deserve a break." Valentine rolled his eyes.

"We still have to do the formal dinner welcoming," he reminded her. She sighed loudly.

"I always hated these things," she reminded him. "I don't understand why you love them so much." A warm smile played on his lips.

"That's why I always loved inviting you," Valentine countered. "You always knew when to remind me that it was time for people to come home." At first, she thought she felt something in her heart. Once, she did love Valentine. And the Valentine she loved? Well, he would say something just like that.

Quickly, hoping that Valentine wouldn't tell, she adverted her eyes towards the dining room. Most people were starting to get seated, either at the table or leaning against the wall. She scanned the people slowly, evaluating them at a distance, until her eyes hit someone she didn't think she would ever see again.

The figure sat upright in her chair abnormally straight, looking at nobody in particular, but yet at the small arrangement of food on her plate. She was pale, yet like a porcelain doll. Jocelyn could tell how her beautiful skin was starting to fall away though - her veins on her hands were starting to show and there were a few sun spots on her cheeks. Her dark eyes, like black moons, were decorated with large feathered eyelashes that tickled her high cheek bones. Her dark hair, long but elegant, flowed down her back.

Maryse. Maryse Lightwood.

"Oh my god," Jocelyn said, "Valentine don't tell me you invited Maryse Lightwood too?" Valentine shot her a partially confused and a partially insulted look.

"What are you talking about, Jocelyn?" Valentine asked. Jocelyn gestured to Maryse, who was staring - no, _glaring - _at her plate. Only a few seats from in front of her, Annmarie was laughing obnoxiously. Jocelyn's eyes were wide.

"You can't invite Maryse," Jocelyn hissed.

"Why not?" Valentine asked, his eyes narrowed on Jocelyn. "Since when did you suddenly have a care about who I invite? Anyways, I knew you weren't necessarily a fan of her, but you didn't dislike her." Jocelyn placed her hands on her hips.

"You're missing the point. You just invited Annamarie! The woman who ruined her life!" Jocelyn spat. Valentine took a double take and looked from Maryse to Annamarie. For a moment, a flash of sudden realization hit his face, but then his face hardened again.

"Maryse Lightwood is one of my highest confidantes. She is perfectly capable of putting her personal thresholds behind her for the good of The Circle," Valentine said defensively. Jocelyn shook her head quickly.

"Valentine, that's not a so-called _threshold. _That's cruel," Jocelyn seethed. Valentine rolled his eyes.

"Well, then you shouldn't have invited Annamarie," he insisted. Jocelyn's mouth dropped.

"Oh by the Angel, I did not invite-_if I arrived with a man I left you for, wouldn't you be distraught_?"

"I wouldn't let that happen," he said instantly, as if it were a stupid question.

"But if I had," she persisted. "And you had to sit there and watch. Wouldn't it be unbearable?" This time, he couldn't suppress his faults. He looked back at Maryse, a hint of regret in his eyes. Something broke the longer he looked watched her, making Jocelyn reconsider how Valentine felt Maryse. Was he in love with her? No, Jocelyn corrected herself. She knew what love looked like in Valentine's eyes. Love looked far worse.

Anger, and almost a tad of guilt for not being there for Maryse when her and Robert seperated, seemed to spur in her. Quickly, before Valentine could affect her anymore, she spun away from the kitchen. She kept her breath steady, noticing how it was growing faster as she walked. She needed to get away. Before anybody could catch her and start a conversation, she started down and empty hall. At a distance, she heard someone say her name, but she ignored them. As soon as nobody was able to see her, she leaned against the wall, breathing.

"Are you okay?" A voice asked. She jumped, turning deeper in the dim hall.

It wasn't Valentine. Instead, it was a shorter man. He was probably around 5'7", with a lean body but a strong structure. Her eyes swept around him, indulging him. His hair, bright as the sun, was curling towards the middle of his neck - not necessarily messy, but not clean-cut either. He wore a light blue button down, the first couple buttons undone, with pale trousers. As he smiled, his high cheekbones created shadows on his face, highlighting some parts and darkening others. He could have looked like a statue, if it weren't for the liveliness in his eyes.

"Stephen Herondale," she said aloud. She didn't mean to sound so entranced, but the thought of seeing him again stunned her. He was always on the edge with Valentine. Valentine kept him close by keeping him in second in command, but that was only because Valentine was wary of him. Stephen had a charisma that Valentine always ached for, but couldn't necessarily grasp. Stephen could go up to any woman without having to think about what to say, and make her blush. He had a sense of humor that made him snarky but not rude. He knew how to blend in with the crowd when he wanted to. Nobody disliked him, nobody questioned him. Stephen was never one who craved power, but he also wouldn't be good at it. He enjoyed being a warrior, which made him easy to depend on. Sometimes even easier to depend on then depending on Valentine himself.

"People say that's my name," Stephen said, filling in her awkward silence. "Is there any reason you're hiding in an empty hallway?" She was about to answer, but then she narrowed her eyes on him, half-jokingly.

"I'd ask you the same," she shot back. Smiling, Stephen held up a thin cigarette.

"Don't worry," he said, as she gagged in disapproval. He nodded towards a small bathroom, which Jocelyn was yet to adventure into. "I was going to open a window." She almost chided him, but she couldn't help but smile at his quick remark.

"I would ask for one," Jocelyn replied, "But I quit long ago." Stephen's eyebrows went up.

"Well, I'd expect so since you were kidnapped for eight years," he said.

"I wasn-_Oh_," she said, remembering Valentine's horrible lie. "Yeah. Er, yeah." Whether Stephan looked shocked at her bland response, he wouldn't show. Instead, he maintained his smile.

"I know shadowhunters are not supposed to talk about circumstances like these," Stephen said, his smile dissolving. "But I heard you don't remember majority of your kidnapping because the trauma made you disconnect from reality." At first, she didn't know how to reply. It wasn't that he was asking her, but almost like he was reminding her. Or maybe, as she realized he was looking at her closely, he was trying to look past it. Did he see past Valentine's lie? Was he brave enough to question it?

"Sounds like hell," Stephan continued. "Questioning God is the only reason I get through the day, Without my mind, I am nothing."

"Always a wonderer, weren't you, Stephen?" she asked, smiling. The left corner of his lips tilted up.

"It's a gift," he agreed. "It'll die with me." She laughed, though she didn't really know why. It wasn't really that it was funny, but yet he was being...light with her. Unlike the rest of the people here, he wasn't afraid to say what he wanted to say. Whether it was too far of a remark, or a flirtatious conversation, he wasn't afraid to let it out.

"Where is your wife? Celine?" Jocelyn asked finally, her hands on her hips. "Aren't you supposed to be taking care of that woman? She tolerates you enough." But then his smile dropped fully, most of his face turning into pure shadows as he looked down. The lights in his eyes fell away. Jocelyn suddenly felt like she had touched something she shouldn't have.

"Oh God, if I knew-"

"Celine," Stephen said her name slowly, letting it out with a sigh, "died. She died in a fire, not that long after the battle. I was recovering at one of the closer buildings, and when I came back the house was nearly gone." Jocelyn's hand flew to her face, gagging slightly.

"Stephen," she exhaled, "I'm so sorry, if I knew-"

"You couldn't have known," Stephen reassured her quickly. "You were obviously incapable of…" But Jocelyn wanted to say otherwise. She wanted to tell him that she left willingly, that in a way she could have stopped it. At the time, she had been distancing herself from the others for a while and had stopped hanging out with the other women. Especially Celine. Many didn't speak to Celine because she was much younger than the rest when Stephen married her. Nobody wanted anything to do with her, knowing that she was only there because Valentine forced them. In a way, despite it not being her fault, they all looked down on her. But what if Jocelyn hadn't? What if she stayed with Celine that day? What if she left Valentine a day later?

"And I'm guessing the baby…?"

"The baby wasn't even born yet," Stephen said, his voice soft. "The baby died with her."

"I'm so sorry," Jocelyn said again. Stephen shrugged.

"It was long enough ago that I've been able to move on," Stephen said. "Not forget, of course, but move on." She understood that, in a way. There was a time when she believed the man she loved, the _true _Valentine, was dead. She grieved greatly, having to see the "new Valentine" haunting her for years, waking up next to him. Then Jonathon came, a being she believed was a demon. But she did move on. She had Clary, she found Luke, she had, even if it was only a short time, a life worth living.  
Suddenly, a thought lit Jocelyn's face.

"Did Amatis ever take you back? I know you never stopped loving her," Jocelyn blurted. It was true - Valentine had forced Amatis and Stephen to divorce when Luke became a werewolf. Jocleyn still remembered the fight she threw with Valentine afterword. A broken vase, an invitation to a new wedding, and three days of silence later, she had to get over it.

"She wouldn't be the woman I loved if she took me back," Stephen said, giving a small, reassuring smile. Jocelyn agreed, deep down; She couldn't imagine Amatis not loving him even now, but she was too proud to take him back after everything he did.

For once, she felt like someone understood. That she was on the same level with someone else. And then Valentine's reminder rang in her mind - she needed to bring friends to the house. She guessed Valentine was only letting her do this because he wanted to bring her back into The Circle, but why not?

"I was just wondering, Stephen, since Valentine will be cooping me up here for a while-"

"Of course," Stephen agreed, "After what happened, I'd be surprised if Valentine ever lets you out of his reach again, knowing his personality." She gave a forced laugh under her breath.

"You have no idea," she promised him, a slight edge to her voice "Absolutely _insane._" The corner of his smile faltered just a bit, catching her underlining bitterness.

"But what?" he asked. She hesitated at first, trying to word it as carefully as she could.

"I was just wondering, if you wanted to have lunch with me on Tuesday? Here. At this house," she asked. As soon as it left her mouth though, she regretted it. Was she entirely insane? In the mundane world, that would be hitting on someone. She thought maybe shadowhunters were above that, but when she heard herself say it out loud, she wondered if shadowhunters were above anything.

"I mean, I just, Valentine will be out a lot and I can't handle staying alone-"

"Oh, don't lie Jocelyn, I see you're in love with me," Stephen said, winking. She looked up at him, in his gold eyes and saw the pure laughter in his eyes. He was joking of course, but the fear that he misunderstood her offer terrified of her.

"Don't tease me, Stephen. You're positively boring, but if I get stuck with having to settle with Annamarie for tea, I may kill a person," she shot back, halfjoking as well. He let out a laugh, a real, full laugh.

"Oh, I don't know, Jocelyn. I have quite a few dates that day, but _maybe _I can spare an hour," Stephen said generously. Jocelyn giggled.

"And who are these dates with?" Jocelyn pestered. Stephen wiggled his eyebrows.

"Why, with myself, Mrs. Morgenstern. Turns out, my attractiveness is too much for people to bare," he told her. She let out a laugh.

"I swear, you Herondales are full of it," she said, waving him off.

"Wait, Jocelyn!" Stephen's voice called from behind her. She turned around sharply, looking at the man one last time. His eyes, which were only a moment ago filled with happiness and light, was now shadowed with sadness.

"You're sure you're alright?" He asked again. His eyes trailed her up and down. She, physically, looked fine, but something must have stopped Stephen from thinking otherwise.

"Yes," Jocelyn lied, the smile no longer on her face. "Why would I be otherwise?" Stephen opened his mouth, ready to answer, but then he shook his head. A smile spread across his face again.

"I was just making sure," he told her.

AN: I was going to go farther but this is eleven pages and eleven pages seemed enough. I DO have a lot of new ideas though, so comment if you want me to write more. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm pregnant." The words woke her up like a canon ball. After leaving Stephen Herondale in an empty hallway, she found herself back to the dining room, where many of the shadowhunters clogged tightly. She found an empty seat next to Valentine, obviously purposely left empty for her.

She looked up. At first she didn't understand, but when she noticed Valentine's black eyes, which was pointed at Annamarie, she silently gasped in horror. Many of the shadowhunters around her, despite not liking her as well, had a split second of hatred. Jocelyn could see it; though it was inappropriate to show personal hatred in a professional atmosphere, for a moment it could be seen by every person in the room.

"What was that?" Jocelyn asked. Annamarie had a wide smile, her hand over Robert's. Though Annamarie's eyes were on everybody else, she said it again.

"I'm pregnant," Annamarie repeated, her voice cheery and obnoxiously happy. "Eight weeks." Before another awkward moment of silence would happen, Valentine clapped his hands. His happy, cruel hands.

"_Ut sit heres_," Valentine said, as the applause slowly grew. The people around them repeated his word of congratulations, but it sounded empty and forced. Jocelyn's felt Valentine's eyes on her, digging into the side of her forehead.

"Congratulations," Jocelyn said, before realizing she murmured her congratulations in the mundane way. _ "Ut sit heres._" But her eyes were looking elsewhere, to a small corner where a severe woman was once sitting. It was empty.

Maryse Lightwood had walked away. At first Jocelyn was quiet, looking at the empty seat, but then she turned to Valentine.

"I have to go," she told him. "Don't kill anyone while I'm gone."

*threedasheshere*

She knew where she would be. She weaved through the house quickly, almost getting lost as she raced through the rooms. Her hands made it to the knob of the back door before Valentine could even get up. She opened it, letting the slightly cool breeze hit her. As she walked out, she saw Jonathon and Alexander play with fake swords only about half an acre away. She let out a breath. At first she didn't see her, but then she noticed the dark shadow sitting in a lawn chair.

"Maryse?" Jocelyn said, her voice soft. "I...I hadn't been able to talk to you. The party is ending soon and I-"

"He never cheated on you, you know," Maryse interrupted. "Even when you were gone, even when women threw themselves at him during every party and flirted with him during every meeting and every father offered their barely-of-age daughter, he denied. He loves you. He never stopped loving you." At first Jocelyn was silent, inching towards Maryse carefully.

_Yes_, Jocelyn had thought as she sat in the second lawn chair, _Maryse had gotten older._ _But not because of age. Because of pain._

"He should have," Jocelyn said quietly. "I was never for the shadowhunter life." When Maryse turned her full face towards her, Jocelyn saw the tears falling down her ageless cheeks. Jocelyn suddenly felt taken back. Maryse Lightwood? Crying? She was tempted to walk away and spare Maryse from humiliation, but she froze.

"I know you knew," Maryse said, but there was no blame in her voice. "We were friends, and you knew."

"Only a few days before I was gone," Jocelyn said, almost defensively. "And don't project your anger on me. Don't pretend you didn't either, Maryse. You knew it before anybody else." At first Maryse was quiet, her thin lips tightening as her eyes looked back at the children again. At first Jocelyn didn't see the third small figure, but when she squinted she saw the young child between Alexander and Jonathon, twirling quickly.

"Is that your-"  
"Isabelle, yes," Maryse confirmed. "And I have a baby at home. I thought the baby would make him stay, but when I told him he had already changed his mind. He left me for that-_that _woman." There was a hint of envy in her tone, and Jocelyn knew immediately that she was fully broken.

"She's weak," Jocelyn reminded her. "Don't envy Annamarie. She's a child."  
"She's only a few years younger than me," Maryse said quietly. Jocelyn rolled her eyes.

"She nearly failed out of Academy," Jocelyn reminded her. "Remember when she was failing defense bitterly so she slept with our defense teacher just to get a 'C'?" At first Maryse was about to argue, but then she smiled.

"I'm not sure why Robert left me for her though," Maryse said. Jocelyn rolled her eyes with a shrug.

"Who cares?" Jocelyn said. "I mean, it doesn't really matter. You know what matters? Isabelle. Alexander. Your baby. You may be a shadowhunter, Maryse, but you are also a mother who'd do anything for her kids. Remember that. You are strong in such an unique way. That's a characteristic very few people posses." Maryse sniffled, wiping her last tear.

"You and Valentine," Maryse said, and Jocelyn could barely stop herself from cringing. "You guys are both so good at making people feel stronger." Jocelyn's eyebrows furrowed.

"Sometimes I don't like it when people say that," Jocelyn admitted. "I am different than him, you know." She nodded sharply.

"I know that, we all know that," Maryse replied. "Things haven't changed since you've been gone." Jocelyn pursed her lips.

"It seems like it has," Jocelyn said. "Everybody is so...content." Maryse shook her head.

"We're stronger with you," Maryse told her. "Valentine...he's a good speaker. But you were our true leader." A rush seemed to go through Jocelyn, and she felt her cheeks warm.

"What do you mean?" Jocelyn asked, her voice barely audible. Maryse looked at her like she was ludicrous.

"Valentine was...good at dreams," Maryse said gently. "He was the one who made a new world, a creative mind, someone who demanded change. He is obsessed with the what if, and sometimes that's what people need to _keep _fighting, but to actually fight? To really get someone on the line? It was always you, Jocelyn. He needed you to actually carry out the plan. You were the one who pushed the button, who was the warrior. You physically pushed reality, while Valentine just talked about it." Jocelyn was quiet for a moment, the memories of eight years ago coming back to her in blurs. She didn't remember being the one who talked, but she did remember it vaguely. When she openly showed her disagreement, the group wouldn't pursue it. She thought it was about Valentine listening to his wife, but what if it was because nobody fully trusted him?

What if it was because everybody was waiting for her call?

"Then how do you guys get anything done now?" Jocelyn asked. "If you don't remember, I haven't been here for eight years."

"He says it," Maryse said. "When we do things in your honor, when he tells people you'd agree, people listen to him." At first Jocelyn was curious if Maryse had finally seen past Valentine. That she had finally seen through his fake persona.

"I didn't want that power," Jocelyn admitted. "I never wanted it."

"That's why people listened to you," Maryse said. "You weren't doing it for power. You were doing it because you believe in it." Jocelyn's eyes turned away, towards the dark field. She could barely make out the children's images anymore, since the sky was fully dark with only a dim moon and a few stars.

"How is he?" Jocelyn said under her breath. "Jonathon?" At first Jocelyn only saw her expression. They both knew what Jocelyn meant - she had once brought up her worries of Jonathon as a baby. She had told her how he didn't feel like hers. That he never cried, he never demanded anything, he didn't seem _normal. _

"He's fine now," Maryse casted a look behind them before she spoke. "It's almost like he's an entirely new child." Jocelyn looked at the outlines. Though there was three of them, she could still decipher which one was Jonathon. Alexander was taller.

"He doesn't look like either of us, you know," Jocelyn said. "Neither of us."

*threedasheshere*

"You missed my final speech," Valentine had said, an two hours later. Every shadowhunter was gone now, in their homes probably already falling asleep. Annamarie was the last one to leave, ranting about her baby for nearly an hour after her and Maryse parted. Jocelyn had quickly, as soon as Annamarie left, started to do the dishes as Valentine started clearing the kitchen.

"I was talking to Maryse," Jocelyn admitted. "Jonathon likes Alexander, you know? They should...play more." At first a flash of annoyance wavered on his face, but then it softened. Jocelyn knew how much he cared about studies and fighting, but Jonathon was still a child.

"You would like that?" Valentine asked. "If Jonathon had more friends, would you be more happy?" At first, Jocelyn didn't answer. She was never good at lying. She thought it was pointless because the truth always came out in the end.

"If he doesn't have friends, he'll be miserable," Jocelyn said. "He may have your blood, but he has mine too. If he is anything like me, then he'll need a friend." A small smile seemed to spur on Valentine's lips.

"I'll send a letter first thing tomorrow," Valentine said. She waved at him dismissively.

"Don't worry about it," Jocelyn said. "I'm going to meet with Maryse tomorrow morning at her home and I was planning on taking Jonathon with me. I'm not going to leave him at home alone while you're at work." At first Valentine tensed.

"Maryse's house? In the city?" Valentine clarified. She nodded.

"She lives a few blocks from here," she said. Valentine nodded.

"I know," Valentine snapped, "but I don't want you to-" Jocelyn dropped the plate she was washing violently into the sink.

"Look, Valentine," she said, her voice soft this time. "I don't want to be here. I _don't. _But if you're going to keep me here, you need to trust me. Or there's absolutely no point." His eyes were on her steadily, staring at her like he was trying to understand her but could never, ever be able to.

"Jocelyn," he said slowly. "I'm not keeping you here to torture you. I love you. And I pushed you away. I got obsessed over my work and I am sure I was intolerable, but I've...grown. I'm not a child like I was eight years ago." At first, Jocelyn didn't answer. She, in a way, believed him. She may not agree, but she did believe him.

"Sometimes, an apology doesn't make things better," Jocelyn whispered. "Sometimes, it's too late." And with that Jocelyn washed the last plate with Valentine's eyes on her like a hawk.

"Good night, Valentine," she said softly. She climbed the stairs until she found the right level and stood there numbly. She breathed for just a moment.

But then she saw light leaking out of the door at the end of the hall. As she stepped over there, she noticed how the door was halfway open. Slowly, and cautiously, she peaked her head in.

Little Jonathon, who she still hadn't had a true conversation with, was sitting at his table trying to construct something out of toothpicks. His eyes, gold as the sun, were fixated on it sharply as his thin, white fingers manipulated the toothpicks in the perfect angles. His arms and elbows, which once seemed awkward and lanky, seemed efficient when it came to trying to find the most perfect angle to stabilize the toothpicks. The small lamp light that was hanging above him illuminated his serious face.

"Do you like it?" He asked. At first she thought he was talking to himself, until he turned his face towards her just far enough to look at her in the eye. She fidgeted, suddenly uncomfortable. She wanted to appear invisible, but obviously failed.

"Yes," she said. "I do. I would never be able to do that." He turned back to his toothpick masterpiece, which looked like a odd-shaped car.

"I saw it in a dream," Jonathon admitted. "I don't typically dream, but last night I dreamed."

"It's a car," she informed him, scratching her head. She guessed that he may not have ever seen a car unless he was raised outside of the city of glass. Not that cars weren't necessarily allowed, they just weren't used. It was seen as a mundane thing.

"Awesome," she heard him say under his breath. There was a small, appreciative smile on his face.

"I have one," she continued, though she didn't know why. "I don't use it much, so it's a junk car. But I keep it at my friend's farm, just in case I want to take my Clary in it. It always makes her car sick though, since she's usually in taxis that only do short rid-"

"Whose Clary?" Jonathon interrupted quickly. Her mouth opened dumbly, finally realizing what she was saying.

"Nobody," she said finally, her eyes falling to the ground. "Nobody you would know." At first there was silence. She felt his eyes on her, like he was trying to understand her in a way, like his father had.

"Is she-" but when he turned his body towards her, his long arm accidentally swung into the masterpiece, causing it to fall into pieces.

"Dammit!" He yelled. Jocelyn's eyes widened. Suddenly, she was near the desk, picking up the toothpicks that had fallen to the ground.

"It's fine, it's okay. They aren't broken," she reassured softly, his eyes filled with golden panic. It looked as if the whole world had burned down. "But don't cuss, because then I'll have to make you put a nickel in the bad mouth jar." But Jonathon's eyes were away from her. Even though she knew it was unacceptable, tears were welling up in his eyes.

"No, no," Jonathon said to himself as his fingers ran across the toothpicks. "I had been doing this all day. I was going to show Father and-"

"I'll tell him about it," Jocelyn promised him, running her long fingers into his whispy hair as she crouched down to his level. "I'll tell him that it was marvelous." He dropped the toothpicks from his fingers, the panic vanishing away from his eyes. At first he looked thankful, more thankful then she had seen anybody show in a long time, but then they hardened.

"Why are you here?" He asked, extremely sharp for someone his age. She blinked.

"What do you mean, Jonathon?" she asked. He turned away from her, pacing around his bed.

"He told me you were my mother," he admitted suspiciously. "But sometimes he lies to me. I know he does it for my greater good, but I want to know." Jocelyn hesitated.

"I am," Jocelyn argued. "I know it's confusing and I know I haven't been here for a while but-"

"Do you think I am stupid?" His voice rose. She flinched, but not in fear. In surprise.

"No," she said, sharper this time as she stood up. "I don't. But I promise you, I am." At first he was quiet, his hands balled up tightly.

"What can I do for you, Jonathon?" She asked. His fingers unraveled.

"What do you mean?" He asked. She threw her hands up.

"What can I do? To convince you? Because I wouldn't believe me either," Jocelyn admitted. "But certainly-"  
"I know you aren't," Jonathon decided. "No mother...No mother would leave her child like that. No mother would just fall off the earth." At first she just stood there quietly, wondering how a boy his age could be so wildly intelligent, but she didn't waver long.

"I'll convince you," she said, walking towards the door."Go to sleep, my beautiful Jonathon. And trust me - I'll tell your father about the toothpicks".

But before she left, she watched as Jonathon picked up the pieces again, determined to put it back together before bedtime. His yellow-blonde strands were starting to form into curls towards the ends, and he looked more determined than any child she had ever seen.

"You may not look like us, but there _is_ something familiar about you," she said to herself, before the closing the door for the night.

*threedasheshere*

The next morning, she wasn't in shock to see herself in the bed. She rubbed her temples tiredly, feeling almost guilty for not feeling surprised to be here. She was still trying to leave, she was just waiting for the right moment. Except, she thought, if Luke looked past her goodbye note. She told him she could no longer do it - seeing him in love with her, and the child of Valentine every waking moment. She told him she was done, that she was going to somewhere with radical weather, like Greenland or Mexico. That - and she wasn't lying this time - they were both better without her.

But Luke was the smartest person she knew. She wished he wasn't, but he was.

"Jocelyn," a voice rang, with a light knock on the door. "It's eight o'clock." She sighed, rustling the fluffy comforter away from her. As she got up, she glanced at the glass window and blinked. Valentine must have fixed it the day before, and she hadn't even noticed until now.

"Jocelyn!" His voice was more urgent this time, though not harsh. "Sleeping your life away isn't healthy." She rolled her eyes. Taking her time to walk to the door, she opened it roughly.

"Yes?" She replied. He was already looking sharp - a smooth button down, dark pants with black shoes. Though it wasn't Alicante custom, it was still acceptable to arrive at work with modern clothes. If anything, it was even encouraged. Being traditional is excellent, but being modern is a necessity.

"I'm leaving," he said sternly. "There's every breakfast food imaginable at the dining room. You'll find Jonathon there as well. I'm sure you still remember where the Lightwood Mansion is?" She crossed her arms against her chest, nodding.

"Of course I do," she told him. He nodded back, but then his eyes narrowed.

"I have two hundred people monitoring this area," he told her. "Most of them watching you. Don't try leaving." Though nothing seemed to flicker across her face, the hairs on the back of her neck rose.

"Whatever you say, master," she hissed. His lips tightened disapprovingly, and then he turned away from her. She listened as his big feet echoed against the wood floors, until she heard the door open and slam shut.

"Jonathon," her voice rang as she walked across the main level. "I heard you were-" And then her face broke out into a smile.

As Valentine had said, Jonathon was at the dinner table. There was a small plate in front of him, with a large mountain of eggs and a glass of milk. Around him though were huge books, at least six, scattered around him. Several were open, and his eyes were scanning multiple at once as he shoved fork-fulls of eggs in his mouth.

"What are you reading?" She asked as she sat down at the table, exactly across from him. She rested her elbows on it, leaning towards him.

"I'm trying to memorize the bible in a rare Greek dialect while translating it at the same time," he told her in a flat tone. "What are you doing?" She took one of the small plates and started to fill it with small portions of the food around her.

"Watching you," she said slyly. For just a moment, Jonathon's lips tipped up, but then he scowled. Quickly, with an anxious look, he glanced at the door, but when he realized that Valentine was indeed gone, he glared at her.

"I still don't believe you," he spat. She reflected a smug smile.

"Of course you don't," she said, with a satisfied sigh. "I was thinking about this last night, Jonathon, and for a moment it really hurt me that you thought I wasn't your mother." She paused for a moment, and when Jonathon realized that she wanted a response, he answered with a slight shrug.

"But?" He asked.

"_But _I realized I would also be disappointed if you believed your father so easily," she said. Jonathon's left eyebrows flickered up, mildly interested now. "What kind of shadowhunter would you be if you believed everything that your father told you?" For a moment Jonathon was silent. But then he closed the books around him and leaned against the table.

"So what? How are you going to prove it?" He asked. She smiled.

"You remember that boy last night?" She asked. His face flickered with annoyance.

"Alastor? Alabastor? A-"

"Alexander," she corrected. "Well, you'll get to see him again today." Within a second, his eyes were filled with horror.

"What? But he's so obnoxious!" Jonathon whined. "He can barely hold up a Paramerion sword! And he stutters when he talks-"  
"And you're a ten year old who uses words like 'obnoxious' and 'paramerion'. Sorry to say it, Jonathon, but you really are just as screwed in shadowhunter social life as me, and we need to fix that." Jonathon's gold eyes darkened.

"And this is what you call bonding?" Jonathon asked. Jocelyn's smile widened.

"This is what I call being a mother," she said in response.

it's a lot shorter then I wanted but I'm kinda stuck on how to start the next part. Pretty-please review!


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